Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 76: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

226 THE There were pretty girls in the mountains, true, and occasionally he had seen hand- some women from the city; but this girl combined human beauty as it was known to his experience and a certain quality which he had associated with the lithographed angel in a picture which his mother cher- ished and which bore the legend ‘‘ Not Lost, But Gone Before.” Doggie was not embarrassed: he was stricken into a state of momentary help- lessness. Moreover, he was puzzled. The girl before him wore a rough cloth suit that had seen some exceedingly hard wear: her gloves were scratched and her boots were battered. She did not wear the kind of clothing that the rich people he had seen wore in the woods. His mind could not place her any more than his tongue could find anything to say while she stood there searching his face. It was she who spoke first, and with the faint hint of a smile about her eyes. ‘Is the hunting good?” she asked, in a voice that had the ring of silver. Doggie admired that voice even as he felt the shock of her inquiry. He hoped to look injured and innocent, but in spite of himself his chin drew in with a little belligerert jerk. “Hunting, miss? They say so, but I don’t know much about it first hand.” Was she laughing at him? Or was the now distinct smile in her eyes one of mere friendliness? She came out of the bushes and stood at ease, with her hands thrust into the pockets of her worn jacket. ‘TI suppose you’re picking out a Christ- mas tree, or something like that?” “Me? No, miss. I’m looking for win- tergreen. It’s—it’s powerful good for rheu- matism.”’ Doggie’s confusion had led him into a slip of the tongue here, but he kept a bold front in the confident belief that the girl would not know whether wintergreen was good for smallpox or measles. So you have rheumatism?” she ques- tioned gravely. “Me? Qh, no! But ma’s had it for about twenty year, I guess.”’ “Oh!” Her interest waned for an in- stant, as she appeared to be studying the ground, and then revived. ‘‘ What do you do for a living, I wonder?” ARGOSY. At this point Sidney Bull remembered that he was a free born American citizen and his backbone stiffened. What right did she have to ask him his business? Who was she, anyway? What if he asked her the same thing? But he answered. “TI fish some—and—work around—and trap in the wintertime.” ‘I see,” reflectively. job?” This subject was the last in the world that Doggie cared to discuss, naturally, and he sparred. “A job? ners’ place?” (<4 Yes.”’ ‘““A kind of housekeeper?” he guessed. “Or something like that?” ‘'Yes,”’ she replied, after a moment. “Well,” explained Doggie. ‘I’m used to being out of doors all the time and I wouldn’t be any good around the house.” “This job would keep you out all the time.” ‘And I have to be home with ma a good deal,’ he went on, as though she had not spoken. ‘ Ma’s over sixty, and—” “You'd have plenty of time to yourself.” “ And—” Doggie stopped, with his breath coming faster as he searched in vain for ideas. “ You’re course?”’ “Me?” he cried with a great sense of relief. “No, miss, I don’t handle guns much if any, at all!” “I thought I heard cartridges rattle in one of your coat-pockets,” she said with mock astonishment, “ and I imagined I saw the tip of a squirrel’s tail sticking out of the other—” | “What?” He thrust his hand into the squirrel pocket and, although he felt him- self growing red, lied manfully. ‘“ Nothing there but a bite of lunch ma give me be- fore I left—” He broke the sentence, with his gaze going beyond her and slowly taking on a certain hardness. He knew that his ex- pression must have changed for he read a reflection in her face: around and followed his eyes. Mose Tatro and Turkey Walker were padding over the “Do you want a Maybe you’re from the Gard- familiar with firearms, of COMIC OOKS she turned half. (E@)